


Episode III - La Revanche des Sith

by kjack89



Series: L’Insurrection Républicaine des Étoiles (Star Wars AU) [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Character Death, F/M, M/M, Minor Violence, Space Opera
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-13 00:04:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10502265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: Star Wars AU.As war with the separatists grows larger and more dangerous, Jedi Padawan Fantine finds her allegiance torn between the Jedi Order and Tholomyès, all while the mysterious Sith draw ever closer, with potentially devastating consequences for Fantine and the child she carries.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A year and a half late, and more than a dollar short, but hey, better late than never. 
> 
> We continue our reimagining of the Star Wars story with our favorite Les Mis characters with Episode III, the first half of which remains fairly true to the film, but the next half will deviate far more. Broken into two chapters simply because I felt like it (and in no small part to encourage me to actually finish writing this after eighteen months). Second half should be up sometime next week.
> 
> Usual disclaimer - I own neither Les Misérables nor Star Wars. All mistakes and typos are my own.
> 
> Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

_ A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far way… _

 

L’INSURRECTION RÉPUBLICAINE DES ÉTOILES

EPISODE III

La Revanche des Sith

 

_ War! The Republic is crumbling under attacks by the ruthless Sith Lord, Count Bamatabois. There are heroes on both sides. Evil everywhere. _

_ In a stunning move, the fiendish Bamatabois has swept into the Republic capital and kidnapped Chancellor  _ _ Tholomyès, leader of the GALACTIC SENATE. _

_ Though Tholomyès was freed by Jedi Knight Valjean, Bamatabois has escaped, and Valjean and Tholomyès’ return to Paris is somber as dark deeds are feared to still come… _

 

Though Tholomyès smiled widely as he stepped out on to the landing platform, waving to those who had come to greet them after the rescue mission, Valjean was close enough to see that there was something strained in his smile. “Are you coming, Master Valjean?” Tholomyès asked.

Valjean shook his head, lurking in the shadows of the shuttle. “Oh no,” he said lightly. “I’m not brave enough for politics, and I have to make a report to the Jedi Council.”

“This whole operation was your idea,” Tholomyès said, surprised. “You planned it, and led the rescue operation that saved me. You must be the one to take the bow.”

Clapping him lightly on the shoulder, Valjean shook his head. “A Jedi does not crave attention. I get my satisfaction knowing that you are safe, Chancellor. And with any luck, you will be for some time.”

For a moment, Tholomyès looked as if he might argue more, a frown furrowing his forehead, but it was quickly replaced by his usual smile as he shrugged and walked towards the Jedi and bureaucrats that had come to greet him. Master Magloire bowed to him. “Chancellor Tholomyès, you are a welcome sight,” she said, her voice low. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, thanks to your Jedi Knight,” Tholomyès said, smiling, though it was quickly replaced by something more serious. “But I am afraid to report that Count Bamatabois has escaped once again.”

Magloire snorted. “Count Bamatabois will run and hide as he always does. He is a coward.”

“That may be true, but he is still the leader of the Droid Army, and I assure you, the Senate will vote to continue the war as long as Bamatabois is alive,” Tholomyès said seriously.

Magloire inclined her head. “Then the Jedi Council will make finding Bamatabois our highest priority.” She bowed again before turning towards the shuttle and the waiting Valjean.

The rest continued walking down the landing platform toward the Senate building, Senator Lamarque falling into step next to Tholomyès. “The kidnapping was a bold move by the Separatists,” Lamarque said. “No one in the Senate imagined that they would be so stupid. And you deserve credit for keeping calm during your ordeal.”

“I’m afraid the credit must go to the Jedi,” Tholomyès said, matching Lamarque’s tone. “And I am sorry that my return does not signal the end of — what is it you called them during debate in the Senate? Oh, yes, my ‘draconian security measures’.”

Lamarque did not seem perturbed. “I merely meant that if they did nothing to prevent your kidnapping, perhaps scaling them back may not be a bad move.”

Tholomyès looked at him coldly. “Scale them back?” he asked quietly. “My dear Senator, until Bamatabois is killed, security will continue to be tantamount to this Republic. I am afraid you will only see security measures increase.” He glanced over Lamarque’s shoulder, something flickering in his expression. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”

He stepped around the Senator without waiting for his reply, making a beeline toward the large row of columns that lined the landing platform, where a shadowy figure waited. Tholomyès followed the figure around the back side of the columns before embracing her and kissing her soundly. “I missed you, Fantine,” he said, his voice pitched low.

Though Fantine kissed him back, her expression was troubled, and she looked pale, almost ill. “There were whispers that you’d been killed,” she said quietly. “I’ve been living with unbearable dread, unable to go with Valjean to make sure he’s safe, unable to guarantee that you’re safe…”

She trailed off, and Tholomyès frowned. “Shouldn’t the Force have been able to show you that I was alright?”

Fantine shook her head slowly. “The Force...I cannot explain. I knew you were alive, but there is a great darkness surrounding you, and I feel as if I might lose you at any moment…”

Tholomyès grabbed both her hands and kissed them. “But I’m back, and I’m alright, and we will not be parted again,” he said fiercely.

Fantine slowly pulled her hands back. “You cannot guarantee that,” she said, a little sadly. “I must go where the Council orders me. And you must stay here, where you’re needed.”

“I’ll ask the Council to keep you here,” Tholomyès declared. “I’m the Chancellor, they must listen to me.” He bent to kiss Fantine again, who was shaking her head. “I love you more than anything, and you’re important to the Republic...to me.”

Though Fantine again shook her head, she looked back up at Tholomyès before saying in a low voice, “I’ve given my life to the Jedi Order, but I would give up my life for you.”

Tholomyès kissed her once more, though he pulled away, his brow furrowing. “You’re trembling,” he said quietly, “as if you’re frightened. What is it?”

Slowly, Fantine spread her hand across her belly, and for the first time Tholomyès noticed that the material of Fantine’s Jedi robes was straining against her swollen abdomen. “Something has happened,” she said softly.

Tholomyès’ eyes widened. “Something wonderful,” he declared, laying his hand on top of hers. “A child,” he said, delight clear in his voice.

“Being pregnant changes everything,” Fantine told him. “I do not know if they will let me stay as a Jedi, or—”

Tholomyès stopped her with a swift kiss. “We will worry about that later,” he said firmly. “This is the happiest moment of our lives, and we are not going to worry about anything else.”

* * *

 

A small shuttle landed on the planet of Nantes, breaking through the mist to settle down on the small landing platform jutting from the tall mountains. Bamatabois descended from the ship and was greeted by a battle droid and a Mandalorian. “Well?” he demanded.

“The planet is secure, sir,” the droid reported. “The population is under control.”

The Mandalorian cleared his throat. “Darth Sinistre has requested your presence in the Council Room.”

Bamatabois nodded slowly. “Very well. Lead the way, Javert.” He followed the Mandalorian to an upper level and entered a conference room where the hologram of Darth Sinistre waited. Bamatabois kneeled. “Yes, Lord Sinistre.”

“Count Bamatabois, I suggest you move the Separatist leaders to Ronchamp,” Sinistre ordered.

Bamatabois bowed his head. “It will be done, My Lord. Have you any further commands?”

“Only that you carry out my orders sooner rather than later,” Sinistre told him in a clipped tone, and without further words, Bamatabois stood and left, leaving Javert with Sinistre. “Bounty hunter.” Javert looked over at the hologram. “You know what you must do?”

After a long moment, Javert nodded. “Yes. If the Jedi are unable to kill Bamatabois, I must kill him.” He glanced sideways at the hologram before adding, a little hesitantly, “Though I don’t see what the death of your closest lieutenant will accomplish.”

“His death is a necessary loss which will ensure our victory,” Sinistre said coldly. “If you wish for your chance to have revenge for your father, you will see this is done. Besides, soon I will have a new apprentice, one far younger and more powerful than Count Bamatabois.”

Triumph was clear in Sinistre’s voice, and Javert shuddered even as he bowed in acquiescence.

* * *

 

Tholomyès was sleeping soundly in bed next to Fantine, who was not; sweat dotted her forehead as she moaned softly, twisting and rolling in the sheets before suddenly sitting bolt upright, a scream escaping from her mouth before she could stop it.

Tholomyès awoke as well, blinking blearily at her. “Fantine?” he asked quietly.

For a moment, Fantine said nothing, just staring straight ahead as she struggled to regain her composition. When she turned to face Tholomyès, her expression was serene. “It was just a dream,” she told him quietly. “I’m sorry to have woken you.”

Reaching out to touch her cheek gently, Tholomyès commanded softly, “Tell me what happened.”

“I was in childbirth,” Fantine said, reaching up to rest her hand against Tholomyès’. “And the baby...our baby...died.”

Tholomyès went very still. “And what of you?” he asked, his voice rough.

Fantine shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Wordlessly, Tholomyès reached out and drew Fantine to him, holding her in his arms as he bent to press a kiss to her temple. “It was only a dream,” he told her. “This baby will live, and will change our lives, without doubt, but it will not end yours.”

“I know,” Fantine told him, steel in her voice. “I won’t let this dream become real. I won’t let our baby die.”

Tholomyès was quiet for a moment, stroking Fantine’s hair before he asked carefully, “Do you think that Master Valjean could help us?”

Fantine pulled away. “I haven’t told him,” she said, “and I won’t. You haven’t said anything, have you?”

“Of course not,” Tholomyès assured her, though he added, “But he’s your mentor, the person who knows you best. He must suspect something.”

“He’s been like a brother or even a father to me, but he’s still on the Council,” Fantine said, her voice low, as she slowly rubbed her swelling belly. “Besides, I don’t need his help. Our baby is a blessing, not a problem.”

* * *

 

Fantine sat crosslegged across from Master Myriel, trying not to let her discomfort color her thoughts or her expression, fearful as she always was these days, being around the Jedi Masters — fear that they might discover her secret and expel her from the order. “Premonitions,” Myriel said slowly, his eyes closed. “These visions you have…”

Clearing her throat, Fantine told him, trying not to sound helpless, “They are of pain, suffering — death.”

Myriel slowly opened his eyes. “Yourself you speak of, or someone you know?”

“Someone…” Fantine started, before faltering.

“Someone close to you?” Myriel supplied, looking at her closely. Fantine nodded wordlessly, and Myriel sighed. “Careful you must be when sensing the future. The fear of loss is a path to the dark side.”

Fantine straightened. “I won’t let these visions come true, Master Myriel.”

Myriel shook his head. “Death is a natural part of life. Rejoice for those around you who transform into the Force. Mourn them, do not. Miss them, do not. Attachment leads to jealousy. The shadow of greed, that is.”

Bowing her head, Fantine asked, her voice low, “What must I do?”

Myriel closed his eyes again, nodding sagely. “Train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose.”

Fantine’s hand automatically rested on her stomach, and she turned away, tears glinting in her eyes as she told Myriel, with forced calm, “I will.”

“Good,” Myriel said. “Then there is more we must discuss.”

“More?” Fantine asked, her hand dropping as Myriel opened his eyes once more. “What’s wrong?”

Myriel straightened, his expression serious. “More executive powers, the Senate is expected to vote to the Chancellor today,” he told her, his voice grave.

Fantine stared at him blankly. “Surely that means less deliberating and more action,” she said slowly. “Is that bad? It will make it easier to end this war.”

Myriel shook his head. “Be careful of your friend Tholomyès, you must.”

“Be careful of what?” Fantine asked, her heart seeming to race in her chest.

For a long moment, Myriel looked at her before saying, “Your presence, he has requested. What for, he would not say.”

Fantine straightened. For Tholomyès to officially request her presence… “It’s unusual for him to request a Jedi presence without informing the Council, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Unusual, all of this is,” Myriel told her. “Relations between the Council and Chancellor, strained have become. Aware you probably are.”

Now Fantine was cautious, and her eyes narrowed as she said slowly, “I know the Council has grown wary of the Chancellor’s power, which I understand, but I also know that we’re all working together to save the Republic.”

Myriel’s expression did not change. “A diplomatic answer,” he told her calmly. “A political answer. But the Force grows dark, and affected we all are by it. Be wary of your feelings.”

With that, he turned away, an official dismissal, and Fantine stood, feeling shaky, and bowed to his back before taking her leave.

* * *

 

“You requested my presence?” Fantine asked, standing in the doorway of Tholomyès’ office.

Tholomyès looked up from his desk and stood. “Yes, I did. Please, come in.” He gestured and Fantine slowly crossed to his desk, though she did not take the proffered chair. “I hope you do not mind me calling on you through formal channels. This is an official matter, I’m afraid.” Fantine frowned and Tholomyès sighed, turning towards his window overlooking the vastness of Paris. “Fantine, this afternoon the Senate is going to call on me to take direct control of the Jedi Council.”

Fantine stared at him, surprised. “The Jedi will no longer report to the Senate?”

“They will report to me, personally,” Tholomyès said, turning back from the window, his expression serious. “The Senate is too unfocused to conduct a war. This will bring a quick end to things.”

“With all due respect, Chancellor, the Jedi Council is no mood for more constitutional amendments.”

Tholomyès started. “Chancellor?” he repeated, his lips quirking in a slight smile that Fantine did not return. “Must we be so formal?”

“You requested my presence as a Jedi, so I am here as a Jedi,” Fantine told him.

For a moment, Tholomyès just stared at her before asking abruptly, “Do you trust me?”

Fantine was taken aback and she answered with a question of her own. “As myself or as a Jedi?”

“Is there a difference?”

Fantine shook her head slowly. “There should be,” she admitted. “My feelings for you — they’ve clouded the Jedi part of me.” She shot him a quick smile. “They always have. But even so…” She paused and took a deep breath. “I trust you.”

Tholomyès nodded before turning to look over Paris again. “Then I need your help,” he told her, his voice low and urgent. “I fear the Jedi, and they power they keep amassing. They are shrouded in secrecy and obsessed with maintaining their autonomy and ideals, no matter the cost. Surely you can see that this is at odds with the very idea of democracy.”

“The Jedi are dedicated to the values of the Republic,” Fantine told him, her voice sharp.

Shaking his head, Tholomyès turned to rest a hand lightly on her arm. “I fear that not all of them are as dedicated to the Republic as you,” he said quietly, examining her closely before adding, “Which is why I am depending on you to be the eyes, ears, and voice of the Republic. Fantine, I am appointing you to be my personal representative on the Jedi Council.”

Instead of seeming excited by the announcement, Fantine’s expression did not change. “The Council elects its own members,” she said, her voice emotionless. “They will never accept this.”

“I think they will,” Tholomyès told her confidently. “They need you more than you know.”

Fantine shook her head. “And will they still need me when they realize, as they inevitably will, that I am pregnant?” she asked, her voice tight.

Tholomyès frowned. “Who’s to say that they will?” he challenged her. “We can manage this. Together, we can do anything. Do you not see?” He reached out, taking both her hands in his. “This way, I can keep you close to me. I can protect you, and our baby.”

Reluctantly, Fantine allowed herself to be pulled into his embrace, kissing him deeply. “Thank you,” she said quietly, beginning to smile. “Me, a Jedi Master, and here with you. And our baby. Maybe everything will be perfect.”

* * *

 

Lamarque sighed heavily. “So it seems the end of democracy is approaching,” he said, his voice low. “Now that he has control of the Jedi Council, the Chancellor has appointed a Governor to oversee all star systems in the Republic.”

The four senators sitting across from him shook their heads. “Ridiculous,” Barrot scoffed. “When did this happen?”

“The decree was posted this morning,” Hernoux informed them, taking a sip of its drink, its purple antennae bobbing unhappily. “Do you think he will dismantle the Senate?”

Buonarroti shook her head. “Why bother?” she asked cynically. “As a political matter, the Senate no longer exists. The Constitution is in shreds. Amendment after amendment, executive directives, sometimes a dozen in one day…”

She trailed off, and Lamarque slammed his hand on his desk. “We cannot let a thousand years of democracy disappear without a fight!”

Babeuf sat back in his chair, stroking his chin tentacles slowly. “What are you suggesting?” he asked mildly.

Lamarque sat back as well. “I apologize,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “I didn’t mean to sound like a Separatist.”

“We are no Separatists trying to leave the Republic,” Buonarroti said evenly. “We are loyalists, trying to preserve democracy in the Republic.” She shrugged languidly. “And I would bet there are many who would agree — or at least not consider it treason.”

“I can’t believe it has come to this,” Lamarque said, a little wryly. “Chancellor Tholomyès was once a dear friend, but it has become increasingly clear to many of us that the Chancellor has become an enemy of democracy.”

Both Barrot and Hernoux seemed unconvinced, and Babeuf told them evenly, “Do not underestimate the amount of corruption that has taken hold in the Senate.”

Buonarroti nodded, her voice rising. “The Chancellor has played the Senators well. They know where the power lies, and they will do whatever it takes to share in it. Tholomyès has become a dictator and we have helped him do it!”

“We cannot sit around debating any longer,” Lamarque said, and the assembled Senators nodded. “Senator Buonarroti and I are putting together an organization to what we can to stop it.”

Hernoux stood, drawing itself to its full height. “Say no more, Senator Lamarque. We understand. At this point, it’s better to leave some things unsaid.”

The other Senators stood as well. “Then we are agreed,” Lamarque said.

The others nodded. “Agreed.”

* * *

 

Fantine shifted uncomfortably as she stood in front of the full Jedi Council, with those currently on assignment off-planet present by hologram. Master Magloire was deep in discussion with Master Myriel, their expressions unreadable as they conversed in undertones. Fantine chanced a glance at Valjean, whose expression was serene and untroubled, before glancing back at Magloire, who nodded her head slowly before looking at Fantine.

“We have approved your appointment to the Council as the Chancellor’s personal representative,” Magloire announced, watching Fantine closely.

Fantine let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding and bowed low to the Masters. “I will do my best to uphold the principles of the Jedi Order,” she told them solemnly.

Myriel steepled his fingers in front of him. “Allow this appointment lightly, the Council does not. Disturbing is this move by Chancellor Tholomyès.” Around the chamber, many of the Jedi nodded in agreement, and Fantine’s lips tightened. Myriel held up one hand for quiet. “Allow you on this Council, we do, but grant you the rank of Master, we do not.”

For just a moment, Fantine stared at them, her expression blank, then sudden heat seemed to flare behind her eyes, and her thin hands curled convulsively into fists. “How can you do this?” she asked, her voice quiet and shaking slightly with anger. “How can I be on the Council and not be a Master? It’s...it’s an insult, it’s—”

“Take a seat,” Magloire said coldly, her voice cutting across Fantine’s and silencing any further protest.

After a long pause, Fantine bowed her head, the fury in her expression leaving just as quickly as it had appeared. “Forgive me, Master,” she murmured, taking the proffered seat next to Valjean, who was conspicuously avoiding her gaze.

Baptistine broke the silence first, her hologram flickering slightly as she told the Council, “We have surveyed all systems in the Republic, and found no sign of Count Bamatabois.”

“Hiding in the Outer Rim, Bamatabois is,” Myriel said seriously. “The outlying systems, we must sweep.”

Valjean leaned forward, frowning. “It may take some time to sweep the Outer Rim systems,” he said. “We do not have many ships to spare, and no way of knowing how long our search will take. We cannot afford to take ships from the attack group heading to aid the Wookiees. That system is vital, the main navigation route for the southwestern quadrant.”

Magloire nodded and glanced at Myriel before telling Valjean, “Master Valjean, you will take a ship to the Outer Rim and contact our spies. No matter how long it may take, we cannot allow the droid armies to regroup.”

Fantine cleared her throat. “I know the Wookies’ system well — Master Valjean and I helped settle a trade dispute nearby not even two seasons past. It would take me little time to drive the droids off that planet, and then I could join Master Valjean and aid in his search.”

“Your assignment is here with the Chancellor,” Magloire said flatly, and Myriel shifted in his seat before offering calmly, “Go, I will. Good relations with the Wookiees, I have.”

Magloire stood, glancing around at the assembled Jedi as she pronounced, “It is settled then. Valjean will find Bamatabois, and Myriel will take the battalion of clones to reinforce the Wookiees.” Her tone left no room for argument, and Fantine felt her face flush as she stared at the floor, aware of Magloire’s piercing gaze on her as she added, “May the Force be with us all.”

The rest of the Jedi stood, the holograms disappeared, and Fantine chanced a glance up at Magloire, who had turned to a different conversation, something dark in her expression as she glared at the older Jedi, a shadow that didn’t disappear even as she stood to sweep out of the room, following Valjean.

As soon as they were out of earshot of the Council Chamber, Fantine gave voice to her frustration. “This is nonsense,” she said, cold fury resonating in every syllable. “A member of the Council who is not a Master? It’s never been done in the history of the Jedi!”

“Calm down, Fantine,” Valjean said measuredly, as if Fantine was still a young padawan. “You have been given a great honor. Do not forget, being on the Council at your age has also never happened in the history of the Jedi.” His step slowed at he glanced almost hesitantly at Fantine before continuing, “The fact is that you’re too close to the Chancellor. The Council does not like it when he interferes in Jedi affairs.”

Something flickered in Fantine’s face, and she said quickly, “I swear to you, I didn’t ask to be put on the Council.”

“But it is what you wanted,” Valjean said calmly, and he arched an eyebrow at her. “Your friendship with Chancellor Tholomyès seems to have paid off.”

Fantine could feel the flush on her face, and she couldn’t meet Valjean’s eyes. “That had nothing to do with this,” she said, without conviction.

Valjean looked at her for a long moment before saying, “Regardless of how it happened, you now find yourself in a delicate situation.”

“You mean divided loyalties,” Fantine said, a hint of bitterness in her voice, and she privately thought that after what happened in the Council, her loyalty couldn’t be less divided.

Valjean’s gaze sharpened, and as if he read her thoughts, he told her, “I worry when I see this anger in you. Those are not Jedi thoughts — they are dark and dangerous. And no matter how you may feel at the moment, the fact is that the tension between the Council and Chancellor will only grow, and you’ve walked right into it.”

Fantine took a deep breath, her expression returning to neutral before she told Valjean, “Master, you of all people should have confidence in my abilities. I know where my loyalties lie.” When Valjean’s expression didn’t change, Fantine frowned at him. “Is there more to this talk than what you’re saying?”

If Valjean had seemed uncomfortable before, it was nothing compared to now. “Just know that I didn’t want to see you put in this situation,” he cautioned before continuing, “The only reason the Council has approved your appointment is because the Chancellor trusts you, and the Council needs you to report on all of the Chancellor’s dealings.”

Fantine felt like her stomach had fallen out of her, and she stared at Valjean in shock. “Spy on the Chancellor?” she repeated quietly, her heartbeat quickening as she thought about just what she might be forced to reveal, including her own delicate situation. “That’s treason!”

“And we are at war,” Valjean told her firmly. “The Jedi Council is sworn to uphold the principles of the Republic, even if the Chancellor does not.”

Startled, Fantine protested, “Tholomyès is not a bad man. He is...he befriended me when he did not need to, and he’s watched out for me ever since I arrived here.”

Valjean reached out to touch her elbow, something in his touch seeming to startle her more than anything he had yet said. “That is why you must help us,” he said quietly. “The Jedi’s allegiance is, as always, to the Senate, and not to its leader who has managed to stay in office long after his term has expired.”

Something flickered on Fantine’s face, and she said, almost uncertainly, “The Senate demanded that he stay longer.”

“Use your feelings,” Valjean urged. “Something is out of place!”

Fantine took a step back, and Valjean’s hand fell to his side. “You’re asking me to do something against the Jedi Code,” she said sharply. “Against the Republic — against a friend! If anything is out of place here, it’s that!” She stared at him for a long moment before asking roughly, “Why are you asking this of me?”

Valjean met her gaze evenly. “The Council is asking you,” he said coolly. “And your allegiance should be with the Council you now sit on.”

* * *

 

“I assume Fantine did not take to her assignment with much enthusiasm?” Magloire asked, walking beside Myriel and Valjean as they headed to the hangar so Myriel could depart to the aid of the Wookiees.

Valjean just shook his head, his expression brooding, and Myriel shook his head.

“Too much under the sway of the Chancellor, she is,” he observed. “Much anger there is in her, and worse than anger, fear — fear for the future, which not even we can see.”

Nodding slowly, Magloire said, uncharacteristically quiet, “It is very dangerous, putting them together. We need her insights, but I don’t know if she can handle it, and I don’t know that I trust her.”

Valjean glanced over at her and said simply, “I trust Fantine with my life.” When Magloire just shook her head, Valjean pressed, “Forgive me, Master, but is she not the Chosen One? Is she not to destroy the Sith and bring balance to the Force?”

Magloire pursed her lips slightly. “So the prophecy says,” she said stiffly.

Myriel closed his eyes before adding heavily, “A prophecy that misread could have been.”

* * *

 

Fantine paused outside of Tholomyès’s office, feeling unsettled. She had once again been summoned through official channels. The last time, Tholomyès had made her a member of the Jedi Council. She didn’t know what he wanted now, but given the trouble their last official meeting has caused…

Shaking her head, she pushed the door open, bowing her head to Tholomyès. “You wanted to see me, Chancellor?” she asked, her voice low.

Tholomyès sat up in his chair, smiling widely. “Yes, please come in. I have good news - our Clone Intelligence Units have discovered the location of Count Bamatabois.”

“That is good news,” Fantine said, surprised. “At last, we can capture that monster and end this war.”

Tholomyès’s smile grew warm, and Fantine blushed slightly as he looked at her with the special look he normally saved for when they were alone. “I would worry about the collective wisdom of the Council if they didn’t select you for this assignment. You are the best choice by far, but…” He shrugged. “They can’t always be trusted to do the right thing.”

Fantine’s smile faltered. “They try.”

Ignoring her tone, Tholomyès waved her toward the chair across from his desk. “Sit down, please.” To his aides. he said curtly, “Leave us.” Fantine slowly sank into the chair as Tholomyès turned his warm smile on her again. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

Instinctively, Fantine laid her hand against her almost-visible bump. “He keeps kicking,” she said, smiling, and Tholomyès’s eyes widened.

“He?” he repeated. “What makes you think it’s a boy?” He came around his desk to lay his own hands possessively on her stomach. “Whoa, with a kick that strong, I’d say the baby takes after you - it’s got to be a girl.”

Fantine laughed lightly, though it quickly faded as she rubbed her stomach. “Even if the Council trusted me, or had accepted me as a Jedi Master, they still wouldn’t send me on the mission to capture or kill Count Bamatabois. My pregnancy is too far gone. They must have noticed by now.”

Tholomyès shook his head slowly as he returned to his seat. “There are none so blind as those who refuse to see,” he told her. “By the time they even realize, you will already have given birth and it will be even easier to protect our child from the Council.”

“From the Council?” Fantine repeated, frowning. “Why would we need to protect our child from the Council?”

“I only meant that we can protect our child’s identity from the Council,” Tholomyès said smoothly, though Fantine’s frown did not fade. “That would allow you to pursue becoming a Master while I continue to lead the Senate.”

For a long moment, Fantine just looked at him, her expression unreadable. Then, abruptly, she asked, “Have you ever considered that we’re doing the wrong thing, that we’ve taken the Republic in the wrong direction?”

Tholomyès’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, he looked downright dangerous. “I cannot believe that you would suggest such a thing,” he said frostily. “The only thing that I have fought for — the only thing that I  _ continue _ to fight for — is a better Republic that we can raise our child in. If you believe anything different, then you may as well join the Separatists. I ask only that you wait until you bear our child to turn traitor — I cannot imagine that raising a child in that environment would be good for him.”

Tense silence fell between them as Fantine stared at Tholomyès, her hand curled protectively around the bump. Then she bowed her head. “I am sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean...I know we’re doing the right thing.”

“We are,” Tholomyès said firmly, and he sighed and shook his head. “Fantine, there is so much you don’t understand. You know that I’m not able to rely on the Jedi Council. If they haven’t included you in their plot, they soon will.”

Fantine’s eyes flashed up to his. “What do you mean?” she asked.

Tholomyès waved a dismissive hand. “Surely you have come to the same conclusion that I suspect,” he said, a hint of impatience in his voice as he leaned towards her. “The Jedi Council want control of the Republic. They’re planning to betray me.” Fantine’s eyes widened and she shook her head slowly, but before she could speak, Tholomyès told her, his voice low and sad, “Search your feelings, Fantine. You know, don’t you?”

Shaking her head again, Fantine looked away. “I know they don’t trust you…” she said slowly.

“Or the Senate, or the Republic, or democracy itself for that matter,” Tholomyès said bitterly. “I was duly elected, and they would plot to have me overthrown!”

Though Fantine still shook her head, her expression tightened slightly as she admitted, “My trust in the Council has been shaken.”

Had she been looking up, she might have noticed the look of triumph that crossed Tholomyès’s face before he asked, a little shrewdly, “Why? Did they ask you to do something that made you feel dishonest?” When Fantine didn’t respond, Tholomyès asked, “Did they ask you to spy on me?”

Fantine did look up at that, anguish clear in her expression, and Tholomyès reached across his desk to touch her hand. “Remember your early teachings,” he told her. “All those who gain power are afraid to lose it. Even the Jedi.”

“The Jedi use their power for good,” Fantine protested, though her voice was quiet.

Tholomyès shook his head sadly. “Good is a point of view, and the Jedi point of view has become skewed of late. Listen to me, Fantine.” His tone became urgent. “The Jedi would separate you and I, would take away your child or remove you from the Council and all you have worked for. With one hand they seek to supplant me as Chancellor, and with the other, they seek to tear us apart. They have asked you to betray the Jedi Code, the Galactic Constitution, and the love of your life.”

Fantine did not respond, merely closing her eyes and pulling her hand away from Tholomyès to cradle her belly and the still-moving child within, lost in thought, with her expression pained.

* * *

 

Fantine and Valjean walked out onto the landing platform where Valjean’s shuttle awaited, overlooking the docking bay where thousands of clone troops were being loaded onto massive assault ships. “You’re going to need me on this one, Master,” Fantine told Valjean, her tone a little detached.

“I don’t disagree,” Valjean said, smiling slightly at her, though his smile quickly faded. “However, this may turn out to be just another wild chase.”

He inclined his head toward Fantine and started towards his ship, though he stopped when she blurted, “Master!”

Fantine took a step towards him, myriad emotions flickering across her face. “Master, I’ve disappointed you, I know. I haven’t been appreciative of your training, and I’ve been disrespectful. I just want you to know that, while I have my frustrations with the Council, your friendship means everything to me.”

Valjean’s expression softened, and he reached out to grip Fantine’s shoulder. “You are strong and wise, Fantine, and I am very proud of you,” he said gently. “I have trained you since you were a small girl, and taught you everything I know. And you have become a far greater Jedi than I could ever hope to be. But you must be patient. Your greatest adventures lie ahead, as a Jedi Master.” He paused, almost as if he wanted to add more, then shook his head slightly. “Either way, don’t worry. I have more than enough clones to deal with Bamatabois. I think I’ll be able to handle the situation, even without your help.”

“Well, there’s always a first time,” Fantine said, smiling slightly, and Valjean laughed before clapping her on the shoulder and heading towards his ship. “Valjean, may the Force be with you!”

Valjean paused at the ladder to his ship and raised his hand in farewell. “Goodbye, old friend,” he said fondly. “May the Force be with you.”

Fantine watched as Valjean and the clone troop ships took off, facing the setting sun and staring out into space for a long time. When she finally turned around, her eyes were full of tears.

* * *

 

Fantine stood uncomfortably over Tholomyès’s shoulder, trying not to stare at the assembled Senators sitting on the other side of the Chancellor’s desk. Tholomyès did not seem concerned by the conversation, leaning almost casually in his chair, gazing at the Senators with hooded eyes, a coy smile on his face. “I understand your reservations completely, Senator,” he said to Lamarque, who looked as stiff and uncomfortable as Fantine felt. “I assure you that the appointments of regional Governors will in no way compete with or dilute the duties of the Senate.”

Buonarroti leaned forward in her seat, her expression grim. “May we take it, then, that there will be no further amendments to the Galactic Constitution?”

“My lady, I want this terrible conflict to end as much as you,” Tholomyès told her easily. “And when it does end, I guarantee an immediate return to democracy—”

“You are pursuing a diplomatic solution to the war, then?” Hernoux interrupted, its expression carefully neutral.

Tholomyès inclined his head towards it, though there seemed to be a tension in his expression as he responded, “You must trust me to do the right things, Senator. That is why I am here.”

Babeuf shook his head and leaned forward. “But surely—” he started, though he faltered when Tholomyès turned his gaze on him.

“I have said that I will do what is right,” Tholomyès told him, standing and glowering down at them with a constrained fury. “That should be enough for your...committee.”

He practically spat the last word, and the Senators stood, iciness hanging in between them. “On behalf of our delegation of two thousand senators,” Lamarque said crisply, meeting Tholomyès’s gaze evenly, “I thank you, Chancellor, and we look forward to the return to democracy and the election of the next Chancellor.”

Tholomyès smiled coldly. “And I assure you, Senator Lamarque, I equally look forward to the end of this conflict.” The Senators turned as one and filed out of the Chancellor’s office, Tholomyès watching them and only sinking back into his chair when the door was closed behind them. “Their sincerity is to be admired, although I sense there is more to this and they are telling us,” he said, more to himself than to Fantine, who frowned.

“What do you mean?”

Turning to gesture Fantine into the vacated seat across from him, Tholomyès told her, almost surprised, “They are not to be trusted. Surely you sensed it.”

Fantine slowly sat, her expression curiously blank. “Senator Lamarque has been a moderate force in the Senate and constantly working toward peace. Surely he can be trusted…”

“These are unstable times in the Republic,” Tholomyès told her, his expression unreadable. “Some see instability as an opportunity. Senator Lamarque is hiding something — I can see it in his eyes.” He cocked his head slightly. “I’m surprised that your Jedi insights are not more sensitive to such things.”

Fantine shook her head and looked away. “I simply don’t sense betrayal in Senator Lamarque.

Tholomyès studied her for a long moment before sitting back in his seat. “Yes, you do, but you don’t seem to want to admit it,” he said calmly. “There is much conflict in you, Fantine. I only hope you know that you can trust me.”

“Of course,” Fantine said instantly, and she managed a small smile as she repeated, “Of course.”

“Good,” Tholomyès told her. “Sometimes I feel you and I are the only good people left in this galaxy, but I am always glad to have you on my side.”

Fantine’s smile faded, and she said nothing more as Tholomyès called in the next group to speak with him.

* * *

 

“You wanted to see me, Master?” Fantine asked, bowing to Master Magloire, who was joined in the Jedi Council room by holograms of Master Myriel and Master Baptistine.

Magloire nodded, her expression grim. “Yes. We need you to tell the Chancellor that Master Valjean has made contact with Count Bamatabois, and that the clone army has begun its attack. His reaction will give us a clue to his intentions.”

If Fantine had any issue with this, she made no indication, merely bowing again before leaving. Magloire glanced at Baptistine, her expression dark. “I sense a plot to destroy the Jedi,” she announced. “The Dark Side of the Force surrounds the Chancellor.”

Baptistine nodded slowly. “If he does not give up his emergency powers after the destruction of Bamatabois, then he must be removed from office.”

“That could be a dangerous move,” Magloire murmured contemplatively, tapping lightly on her chin. “The Jedi Council would have to take control of the Senate in order to secure a peaceful transition…”

“And replace the Senators who are greedy and corrupt?” Baptistine asked, doubt in her voice. “The kind of power the Jedi would have to wield...would it make us any better than the Chancellor and his corrupt regime?”

Myriel raised one hand to forestall any further arguments. “To a dark place this line of thought will carry us,” he warned gravely. “Great care we must take in deciding how best to proceed.”

* * *

 

Fantine burst into Tholomyès’s office without knocking. “Tholomyès, we have just received a report from Master Valjean. He has engaged Count Bamatabois.”

Tholomyès stood, his eyes gleaming. “We can only hope that Valjean is up to the challenge.” He extended a hand to Fantine, pulling her close and kissing her lightly before telling her, “I know you wish you could be there with him. I wish the Jedi Council saw your talents as much as I do.”

“I believe you may be a little biased,” Fantine said lightly, smiling up at him, though the smile faded slightly as she continued, “More and more I feel as though I am being excluded from the Council. I fear…” She trailed off, one hand cradling her belly. “I fear they may realize that I am pregnant.”

Shaking his head, Tholomyès splayed a hand against her bump. “If they knew, they would have said something by now. I suspect there is more at work here. They don’t trust you — they see your future and know that your power will be too strong for them to control. You can do more with the Force than any on the Council, and they know it.”

Fantine stiffened against him. “How do you know anything about the Force?” she asked quietly.

“You’d be surprised what I know about the Force,” Tholomyès said with a small smile. “I know more of its complexities than any of the Council, even the nature of the Dark Side.”

Now Fantine pulled away from him, her eyes wide. “You know the Dark Side?” she gasped.

Tholomyès didn’t seem surprised by her reaction. “If one is to understand a great mystery, one must study all its aspects, not just the dogmatic, narrow view of the Jedi. If you wish to become a complete and wise leader, you must embrace a larger view of the Force. Be careful of the Jedi, Fantine.” He paused before adding, “They fear you, and in time they will destroy everything about you that makes you great. But I could help you, share my knowledge with you. You don’t need more training, you just need to be able to use your powers.”

Fantine took another step back. “The Jedi are my family,” she said, though there was hesitation in her voice.

“ _ I _ am your family,” Tholomyès told her in a commanding voice. “Myself, and the baby in your belly. Through me, you can achieve a power greater than any Jedi. You can keep our family together, keep our baby safe and alive. Learn to know the Dark Side of the Force, and you will save our baby from the fate you have foreseen.”

All of the pieces finally seemed to fit together, and Fantine shook her head as she realized out loud, “You’re the Sith Lord we’ve been looking for!”

With trembling fingers, she ignited her lightsaber, though she looked as if that very act might destroy her. Tholomyès held up both his hands, though he didn’t look particularly concerned by the lightsaber. “Ever since I’ve known you, you’ve been searching for a life greater than that of an ordinary Jedi,” he told her calmly. “A life of significance, a life full of love. I am offering you that life.”

Fantine shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “You’re wrong!” she shouted.

“Am I?” Tholomyès asked, sounding almost amused. “Are you going to kill me then?” Fantine stayed silent, staring at him through her tears. “I know you, Fantine. You can deny it as much as you wish, but I have felt your conflict, as much as I have felt your passion and your love.”

For a brief moment, Fantine’s grip tightened around the lightsaber, and it looked as if she might raise the blade. But then, she extinguished the saber and took a step back, hastily brushing tears from her cheeks. “I will turn you over to the Jedi Council,” she told him, her voice shaking.

Tholomyès nodded. “Of course you should,” he said smoothly, still looking far too confident. “But you’re not sure of their intentions, are you? What if I am right and they’re plotting to take over the Republic?” When Fantine merely shook her head, Tholomyès sighed and walked back to his chair and sitting down. “You have great potential, Fantine, and you could do much with the power of the Dark Side — the power to save our baby. But in the meantime, I am not going anywhere. You have time to decide my fate — the fate of our child. Perhaps you’ll reconsider and help me rule the galaxy for the good of all…”

Fantine fled.

Her heart was beating a wild pattern in her chest, and her baby lay still in her belly as if realizing the danger it — and she — was in.

Tholomyès was a Sith. Was  _ the _ Sith, the one they had hunted. She had fallen in love with in a Sith Lord. But for all the Jedi Council had told her of the Sith, she couldn’t see that absolute evil reflected in Tholomyès, who had held her so gently and kissed her so sweetly. Perhaps the Jedi were wrong about the Sith...and if they were wrong about the Sith, what else might they be wrong about?

The thought threatened to consume her as she strode blindly toward her transport so she could return to the Jedi Temple and alert Master Magloire. To her surprise, Magloire was at the landing platform, as if waiting for her. “Master Magloire,” Fantine gasped, bowing quickly before blurting, “I must talk to you.”

“And I must talk to you,” Magloire said seriously, gesturing towards the other Jedi that accompanied her. “We’ve just received word that Valjean has destroyed Bamatabois. We are on our way to make sure that the Chancellor returns emergency powers to the Senate.”

Fantine shook her head. “He won’t give up his power,” she said grimly. “I’ve just learned a terrible truth. I think Chancellor Tholomyès is a Sith Lord.”

“A Sith Lord?” Magloire repeated, drawing herself up, her eyes narrowing. “Then our worst fears have been realized. We must move quickly if the Jedi Order is to survive.”

Fantine raised her chin. “Master, the Chancellor is very powerful. You will need my help if you’re going to arrest him.”

Magloire shook her head. “For your own good, stay out of this affair,” she ordered. “I sense a great deal of confusion in you. There is too much fear that clouds your judgment.” She saw the look on Fantine’s face and softened for just a moment. “If what you have told me is true, you will have gained my trust, but for now, you must remain here.”

“Yes, Master,” Fantine said, bowing in acquiescence, watching as Magloire led the other Jedi away. As soon as they were gone, Fantine sank to the ground, her face pale. She held her bump and stared off at nothing in particular, trying to wrap her mind around what she had just learned — trying to keep her heart together when it felt like it was breaking.

Whatever else he was — Sith Lord, power-hungry, maybe even evil — Tholomyès  _ loved _ her, and was the father of her child. Did that count for nothing?

But then she thought of the number of people who had lost their lives in this war, this now pointless war, and felt sick to her stomach.

She pressed her hand against her stomach and closed her eyes. What she had to be concerned with now was her child, the child she had seen dying as she gave birth. If there was anything she could do to stop that future…

Abruptly, she stood, swaying slightly. “I can’t let him die,” she whispered before striding from the hangar.

* * *

 

Magloire glanced to her right and left at the Jedi that flanked her before drawing her lightsaber and igniting it. Her companions followed suit, and the three of them burst into Tholomyès’s office. Without glancing up at them, Tholomyès said calmly, “Welcome, Master Magloire. I assume that Bamatabois has been destroyed.”

In her most imperious voice, Magloire told Tholomyès, “In the name of the Galactic Senate of the Republic, you are under arrest.”

Tholomyès stood, drawing himself to his full height, a dangerous lilt to his voice as he asked, almost amused, “Are you threatening me, Master Jedi?”

“The Senate will decide your fate,” Magloire responded.

Tholomyès’s eyes narrowed and he snarled, “ _ I _ am the Senate!”

Without warning, a lightsaber appeared in Tholomyès’s hand, and he launched himself at the three Jedi. The one on Magloire’s left was cut down almost instantly, and while the one on Magloire’s right put up more of a fight, she too was struck down, leaving only Magloire and Tholomyès, circling each other. “You are committing treason,” Tholomyès spat.

“I serve the Galactic Senate,” Magloire responded calmly. “To that end, it is you who has committed the ultimate treason.”

They launched themselves at each other, turquoise lightsaber clashing against red, sparks flying as the two jumped and whirled in a fierce rhythm. Yet for its fierceness, it was over almost as soon as it began, a well-timed blow from Magloire knocking Tholomyès’s lightsaber from his hand. “You are under arrest, My Lord,” Magloire said in a low voice, her chest heaving as she aimed her lightsaber at Tholomyès’s throat.

At that moment, the door to Tholomyès’s office burst open again, and Fantine ran in. “Stop!” she screamed, and Tholomyès’s face flooded with relief.

“Fantine,” he said, holding up both hands placatingly and focusing all of his attention on Fantine, “I warned you. I told you that it would come to this, and I was right. The Jedi are taking over.”

Magloire did not turn to look at Fantine, and the only indication that she realized Fantine had disobeyed her orders was a slight tightening of her shoulders. “The oppression of the Sith will never returned,” she thundered. “Your plot to take total control of the Republic is over, and power shall be restored to the people.”

Tholomyès smiled, a twisted, grotesque smile. “No,” he said simply. “You will die.”

Blue lightning shot from the tips of his fingers, and it took every Jedi instinct Magloire possessed to swing her lightsaber in time to intercept them before they hit her. The impact with the lightsaber forced the bolts back on Tholomyès, who cried out from the impact as Magloire stepped closer to him. “Fantine!” he wailed, crumpling to the ground. “Fantine, she is a traitor!”

“He is the traitor,” Magloire said simply.

For a moment, Tholomyès’s weak and whimpering facade slipped, and he sneered at Magloire before turning his pitiful expression back to Fantine. “Remember your dream,” he told her. “The Jedi will betray you, just as they have betrayed me. You are not one of them. You are my family — don’t let her kill me!”

“Don’t listen to him,” Magloire insisted, her teeth clenched from the effort of forcing Tholomyès backwards.

Fantine stood frozen, clearly unable to choose between the Jedi and Tholomyès. The sparks flying from Tholomyès’s fingers flickered and faltered, and Tholomyès managed, “You must choose. I have the power to save your baby —  _ our _ baby.”

For the first time, Magloire whirled to face Fantine, shock and betrayal written all over her face, and Fantine blinked and looked away, wrapping an arm around her swollen belly. Magloire took a deep breath and turned back to Tholomyès, redoubling her efforts, the blots from Tholomyès arching back on him and beginning to twist and distort his entire body. “I’m dying,” Tholomyès croaked. “I am too weak. I can’t hold on any longer.”

Magloire took another step towards him. “I will end the Sith once and for all,” she declared.

Fantine stirred, slowly moving closer to Magloire and Tholomyès. “You can’t kill him, Master,” she managed, her voice weaker than she expected. “He must stand trial with the Senate.”

“He has too much control with the Senate,” Magloire shot back, all her focus on Tholomyès. “There would be no justice found in the Senate or the Courts..

Tholomyès’s eyes found Fantine’s. “Please,” he whispered, the bolts from his fingertips fading.

Fantine struggled against the tears she could feel welling in her eyes. “It’s not the Jedi way!” she insisted. “He must live! I need him!”

Magloire made no indication that she had heard, instead raising her lightsaber, ready to strike Tholomyès. Just as she was about to bring her lightsaber down, Fantine sprang forward, reaching out with the Force for Tholomyès’s abandoned lightsaber and swinging it in a wide arc, cutting Magloire’s hand off.

A wordless cry came from Magloire’s lips, and she looked over at Fantine, who stared back at her in horror, unable to believe what she had just done. The lightsaber dropped from her hand, but it was too late — as soon as Magloire’s attention was turned, Tholomyès sprang to life, the lightning bolts reigniting from his hands and blasting full force into Magloire, who was defenseless against the onslaught. She crumpled under the force of the bolts, and Tholomyès picked up Magloire’s lightsaber and in one clean stroke, cut her head off.

Fantine cried out, crashing to her knees as she stared in horror at Tholomyès standing over Magloire’s lifeless body. “What have I done?” she wept, rocking back and forth. “What have I done?”

Tholomyès turned to Fantine, triumph gleaming on his face, which was still twisted and scarred from the power of the lightning Magloire had turned back on him. “You have fulfilled your destiny,” he said, tossing Magloire’s lightsaber aside and offering his hand to Fantine. “Become my apprentice. Learn to use the Dark Side of the Force. And together we will ensure that our child survives.”

For a moment, Fantine considered picking up her lightsaber and killing him then and there. But then her baby kicked, and Fantine cradled her belly, tears shining on her face as she looked up at Tholomyès. “Yes,” she whispered. “I will do whatever you ask. For the sake of our child.”

Tholomyès reached out and stroked Fantine’s cheek, tipping her chin up so that she was staring into his eyes. “Then pledge yourself to me,” he said, running his thumb across Fantine’s lips. “Pledge yourself to the Sith.”

Fantine stared up at him, unable or unwilling to look away. “I pledge myself to your teachings,” she mumbled, her lips trembling against Tholomyès’s thumb. “I pledge myself to the ways of the Sith.”

Tholomyès smiled then, the same twisted, dark smile from before. “Good,” he crooned, his eyes gleaming. “The Force is strong with you. You will be a powerful Sith, and your child along with you. Henceforth, you will be known as Darth Moeder.”

Fantine bowed her head. “Thank you, my Master,” she whispered.

“Rise, Darth Moeder,” Tholomyès commanded, reaching down to help her to her feet, smiling triumphantly when she stood, and he rested a hand against her stomach. “The fact that the Council did not trust you will work to our advantage. When the Jedi learn what has transpired here, they will move to kill us, along with all the Senators.” His hand pressed against Fantine’s stomach and she almost cried out at the sudden pain. “Every single Jedi, including your friend Valjean, is now an enemy of the Republic. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I understand,” Fantine gasped, and as suddenly as he had pressed, Tholomyès’s hand relaxed, rubbing soothingly against her taut stomach.

Then, abruptly, he turned away, moving back towards his desk and sitting down. “Good. Then we must move quickly. The Jedi are relentless, and if they are not destroyed, it will mean civil war without end.” He glanced up at Fantine. “Your first move will be going to the Jedi Temple. Destroy all within those walls.” Fantine made as if to protest and Tholomyès held up a hand. “Do not hesitate,” he commanded, the threat clear in his voice. “Show no mercy. Only then will you be strong enough with the Dark Side to save our child.”

Fantine swallowed, hard, and bowed her head again. “What about the other Jedi spread across the galaxy?” she asked.

“Their betrayal will be dealt with,” Tholomyès said dismissively. “After you have killed all the Jedi in the Temple, go to the Ronchamp system. Wipe out the Separatist leaders.” Fantine nodded and turned to leave, Tholomyès words echoing in her ears as she slowly strode away from the life she might have known. “Once more the Sith shall rule the galaxy. And then, our family shall have peace.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I couldn't let _another_ May the Fourth pass by with no update...
> 
> I am so, so sorry this has taken this long, and it's not even a full update. But I swear I'm working on it, and my goal is to finish this series by the end of the year.
> 
> Only like a year too late, but hey, better than nothing, I guess.

Blaster shots were flying through the air on all sides, ricocheting off of the ancient walls of the caves on Nantes as Valjean and the clones he commanded closed in on Bamatabois’s forces. From high above the battle, Javert watched impassionately, his gloved fingers tapping restlessly on the sill. “I should be down there fighting,” he muttered to no one in particular, and the clone commander behind him remained silent.

Suddenly, the commander’s comlink  beeped, and the commander accessed the hologram message. The cloaked figure of Darth Sinistre appeared, flickering slightly. “Commander Codeus, Javert — execute order Two-Four-Six-Oh-One.”

“It will be done, my Lord,” Commander Codeus replied, and the hologram disappeared.

Javert unholstered his blaster. “Commander, look after your forces,” he ordered. “I will take care of Bamatabois and Valjean.”

For a moment, Codeus hesitated, but obedience was bred into his DNA. “Yessir,” he said before turning on heel and heading back down to the battle.

Javert took a deep, steadying breath and glanced down at the melee below once more, automatically looking for the brown-robed Valjean among the clones and droids. When he didn’t see him, he took one deep breath before turning towards the control room where Bamatabois was waiting for the next orders from Sinistre. He squared his shoulders and stepped into the room, his finger twitching against the trigger of his blaster.

Bamatabois looked up at him. “Did Lord Sinistre send new orders?” he asked. “I assume that I am to join the Separatist leaders on Ronchamp. This system is too far gone to save.”

“Yes, Sinistre sent new orders,” Javert said calmly. “But you’re not going to Ronchamp.”

“Then where am I going?” Bamatabois asked, confused.

Without answering, Javert levelled his blaster at Bamatabois’s head and fired. “Nowhere,” he replied as Bamatabois slumped over, dead.

“Javert.”

Javert whirled, raising his blaster again at the unexpected voice behind him, both surprised and resigned to see Valjean standing behind him, lightsaber in hand. “I knew you would come,” Javert said, his breath hissing between his teeth as he stared at Valjean, and he fired a half-dozen shots at Valjean, who deflected them easily.

Valjean seemed almost resigned as he circled the room, not making a move towards Javert nor trying to flee. “I know what you want,” he told Javert, twirling his lightsaber in his hands.

“You know  _ nothing _ ,” Javert retorted, his eyes alight with not just the hatred and pain he had borne since Valjean killed his father, but with the light of absolute justice and right. “I see not a Jedi before me but a murderer with no honor. And now I have you in my sight.”

He fired a few more shots at Valjean, who deflected them just as easily as before. “I did kill your father,” Valjean said softly. “You will not hear me deny it. But it was not murder. That--” He nodded towards Bamatabois’s lifeless murder. “That certainly looked like it was.”

A muscle worked in Javert’s jaw. “I was following orders,” he said.

“And where is the  _ honor _ in that?”

For a moment, they both just stared at each other, Jedi facing Bounty Hunter, each awaiting the other’s move. Then, suddenly, Valjean cried out as his vision blurred, the sight of Javert replaced by a rapid series of images—

_ Fantine, crying out, in pain, her cries joined by thousands of others throughout the galaxy, cut only by— _

_ A baby crying. _

_ Tholomyès standing over Fantine, triumph on his face. _

_ Fantine, lifeless, cold, dead, the baby’s cries fading into nothing _ \--

Another shot fired, this one finding its target, and Valjean cried out again, dropping his lightsaber from the unexpected pain in his arm. Unarmed, he stared up at Javert, cradling his arm against his chest as Javert slowly approached, his blaster still trained on Valjean. “Javert,” Valjean said, not in an attempt to placate, but instead to reason, if any reason was left, “I am sorry about Chabouillet.”

“Don’t,” Javert said, his voice shaking slightly.

Valjean shook his head and said very rapidly and in a very low voice, “I know you do not understand why I had to do what I did. I know you will never forgive it. But if you truly intend to honor Chabouillet, to bring right and justice to the galaxy, you must grant me three days. There is an unborn child, one I did not truly realize existed until now. That child is in mortal danger, and I must save the child -- and if I can, the mother.” Javert stared at him and Valjean added quickly, “Accompany me if you must, but grant me this. Please.”

“Do you think me a fool?” Javert asked. “Do you think I will just let you walk away?”

Valjean lifted his chin slightly. “I think that if you truly wanted to kill me, you already would have.” Again they stared at each other for a long moment before Valjean bent, slowly, and picked up his lightsaber. “Three days,” he repeated, looking up at Javert. “And then I am yours.”

Javert’s hand trembled and he lowered his blaster. “If you leave, I will never stop hunting you.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Valjean said simply before bowing and turning his back on Javert, whose finger again twitched on his trigger of his blaster. But as he watched Valjean walk away, he could no more shoot him than he could before.

* * *

 

Fantine’s speeder touched down on the landing deck at the Jedi Temple and she gratefully accepted the help from one of the clone officers in getting out. “My Lady,” the clone said, “what does Lord Sinistre order?”

“He says—” Fantine hesitated, cradling her belly for a moment before finishing in her most commanding voice, “Execute order Two-Four-Six-Oh-One.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the clone said, saluting before turning to the assembled clones. “You heard her. Execute order Two-Four-Six-Oh-One. Leave none alive. Move out.”

The clones jogged into the Temple and Fantine followed, slower than the clones, her lightsaber in hand but unlit. As she walked the same steps she had taken hundreds of times before, the same steps every Jedi had followed through the Temple, she faltered, reaching out to steady herself against a pillar. A sudden, vicious pain gripped her belly, and she dropped her lightsaber, grasping her stomach and gritting her teeth.

Almost as soon as the pain started, it stopped, and Fantine slowly straightened. She was just about to reach for her lightsaber when a tiny youngling, no older than five at the most, ran towards her, panic on his young face. “Master Fantine!” he cried. “There are too many of them! What are we going to do?”

Fantine stared at him, horror curling in her stomach, but before she could reply, a clone appeared behind the boy and without warning, shot him. Fantine gasped but the clone didn’t even pause, moving on to the next room.

Slowly, Fantine sank to the ground, staring at the lifeless youngling, barely even noticing as the pain once again tore through her. She closed her eyes, but it only seemed magnify the screams from too small of voices that echoed throughout the Temple.

She blindly reached out and groped for her lightsaber. Once she grasped it, she stood and hesitated for only a moment before turning around and leaving the Temple and the slaughter of all within behind her.

It wasn’t until she was aboard her starship heading to Ronchamp that she allowed herself to cry.

* * *

 

Senator Lamarque’s speeder landed at the Jedi Temple, which was on fire, huge plumes of smoke billowing into the Parisian sky. Four clone troopers aimed at Lamarque as he landed, but they lowered their blasters when they recognized him. “What’s going on here?” Lamarque asked, disembarking from his speeder and hurrying towards them.

“There’s been a rebellion,” one clone told him, holding up his hand to stop Lamarque from coming any closer. “Don’t worry, sir, the situation is under control.”

Something did not seem right, and Lamarque shook his head and made as if to step around the clones. As one, the clones cocked their blasters and again aimed at Lamarque, who slowly raised his hands. “I’m sorry, sir,” the same clone said. “No one is allowed entry. And it’s time for you to leave.”

Lamarque slowly inclined his head. “And so it is,” he said. 

He reluctantly headed back toward his speeder, knowing that there was something very wrong. Suddenly, several shots rang out, and Lamarque turned see the clones firing at a young Jedi, who was doing her best to deflect their shots with a lightsaber, but to no avail. One shot hit her and she crumpled.

Lamarque cried out and the clones turned toward him. “Shoot him,” the clone commander ordered, and the clones began firing. Lamarque only just managed to crawl back into his speeder and take off, the clones continuing to fire as he disappeared into the night.

With trembling fingers, Lamarque grabbed his comlink and called the captain of his starship. “Captain Prouvaire, find a Jedi homing beacon and meet me at the landing pad. Have your crew be ready for take-off immediately.”

“Yessir,” Captain Prouvaire replied without question, and it spoke volumes of his crew’s competence that when Lamarque landed, the ship was indeed ready for take-off.

Lamarque joined Captain Prouvaire, who was waiting for him. “Were you able to get ahold of a Jedi homing beacon?” he asked.

Captain Prouvaire nodded. “We encountered no opposition,” he reported. “The clones are still a bit confused. It appears no one is in command.”

“That will change soon enough,” Lamarque said darkly as they boarded the ship. “Hopefully we will be able to intercept a few Jedi before they walk into this catastrophe.”

* * *

 

Valjean bent over the controls of the starfighter he had stolen from Nantes and punched in the coordinates into the comms system. “Emergency code nine-four-three-oh,” he said into the comlink. “I have no contact on any frequency. Are there any Jedi out there?”

He repeated the message once more before a crackling response came back. “This...Valjean...in…”

Valjean adjusted the dial. “I’ve locked on to your signal. Repeat.”

The response came in clearer. “Master Valjean, this is Senator Lamarque. Did your clone troops turn on you?”

“No, I was attacked by a bounty hunter,” Valjean said, his brow furrowed. “I had to flee due to...extraordinary circumstances. The clones have turned?”

“It appears that the clone troops have ambushed Jedi across the galaxy,” Lamarque reported. “We have just rescued Master Bienvenu. I’ll send you our coordinates.”

Valjean hesitated. “Is the attack by the clones serious?” he asked. “There is another matter that requires my attention. My padawan…”

He trailed off and was met by silence for a long stretch, long enough for Valjean to consider repeating his message. But then Lamarque came back on the comlink. “Your padawan is likely dead. The rest of the Jedi...we have found no survivors besides Myriel.”

Valjean bit off a gasp, gripping the console with both hands to try to steady himself. “I’ll come at once,” he heard himself say, as if from a distance. “Send your coordinates.”

When the coordinates came through, Valjean typed them in with leaden fingers, his heart breaking at the thought that he might be too late to help Fantine — or Fantine’s unborn child.

* * *

 

“You made it,” Lamarque said, clearly relieved, and he gripped Valjean by the shoulders. “I am glad to see you alive.”

Behind him, Master Myriel slowly limped forward to greet Valjean. “Master Valjean,” he said, his voice gravelly and sad. “Dark times are these. Good to see you, it is.”

Valjean nodded, his face lined with concern. “You were attacked by your clones?” he asked urgently.

Myriel nodded. “With the help of the Wookies, barely escape I did.”

“And no other Jedi managed to survive?”

Lamarque and Myriel exchanged dark glances, and Myriel shook his head. “Heard from no one, have we.”

“I saw thousands of troops attack the Jedi Temple,” Lamarque added. “That’s why I went looking for Myriel. And you should know -- we’ve received a coded retreat message from the Temple. It instructs all Jedi to return to the Temple, and it says that the war is over.”

“Then we must go back,” Valjean said instantly. “If there are other stragglers, they will fall into the trap and be killed.”

Lamarque frowned. “It’s too dangerous to return,” he said, but Myriel tilted his head slightly as he looked at Valjean.

“Suggest dismantling the coded signal, do you?”

Valjean nodded. “There is too much at stake here to leave it, no matter the risk,” he said. “Besides, we need a clearer picture of what has happened.”

Lamarque looked as if he was going to protest again, but Myriel nodded thoughtfully. “I agree,” he said. “In a dark place we find ourselves -- a little more knowledge might light our way.”

Lamarque’s comlink beeped and he answered it. “Yes?”

“We’re receiving a message from the Chancellor’s office, sir,” the captain said.”

“Send it through,” Lamarque said, sharing a dark look with Myriel and Valjean.

After a moment, Victurnien’s voice came through the comlink. “Senator Lemarque, the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic requests your presence at a special session of the Galactic Senate.”

Lamarque frowned. “Tell the Chancellor that I will be there.”

“Very well,” Victurnien said, her voice cool. “He will be expecting you.”

With that, the message ended, and Lamarque turned off the comlink. “It could be a trap,” he told Myriel and Valjean, but Valjean shook his head.

“I doubt it,” he said. “Not even the Chancellor will be able to control the thousands of star systems without keeping the Senate intact.”

Myriel nodded. “And if a special session of the Senate there is, easier for us to enter the Jedi Temple it will be.”


End file.
